


Out of the Water

by Trobadora



Category: Grimm (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Episode: s04e16 Heartbreaker, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-11
Updated: 2016-07-11
Packaged: 2018-07-19 22:10:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7379365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trobadora/pseuds/Trobadora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Juliette follows Renard when he goes to meet Kenneth. Everything changes. - Diverging from canon during episode 4.16, <i>Heartbreaker</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Out of the Water

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SadieFlood](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SadieFlood/gifts).



  
_"Because he insisted on it, I promised him he should be my companion,  
but I never thought he would be able to come out of his water."_

The Frog King, or, Iron Henry (Grimm's Household Tales)

  
~*~  


Renard glared down at his ringing phone and swallowed another mouthful of coffee. He'd slept badly, not helped by Juliette barging into his bedroom in the morning to demand answers he didn't have. What was he to do with her now that Henrietta hadn't been able to help? Now that she was clearly in the process of breaking up with Nick? He wasn't sure he'd done the right thing, letting her stay. She'd been useful to him, of course, using her blood to open that book, and a powerful Hexenbiest on his side certainly couldn't hurt. But then again, _was_ she on his side? Or anyone's side, other than her own?

 _I want my life back. And if I don't get it, you better watch out._ Her words, this very morning, had sounded unpleasantly like a threat.

The phone kept ringing, insistent. With a sigh, Renard put his now-empty mug into the sink and picked up the call.

"What?" he demanded, not bothering with polite phrases. Not to an unidentified number.

"You might have picked up faster." It was Adalind, her voice low, rushed, urgent. Clearly also not in the mood for greetings. 

"Adalind," Renard said, unwilling to make an overture but equally unwilling to simply hang up. She'd already tried to convince him they were on the same side once, this week. If she kept trying, she might say something useful. She was with his family, after all, and her intel might be valuable. If she was willing to part with it. "This isn't a good idea."

Not that that wouldn't be nice if she truly was on his side, for a change, but he wasn't going to hold his breath. And her calling him now, with Juliette in the house, upstairs in the guest room, was nothing short of surreal. 

"You better make up your mind fast," Adalind hissed, almost whispered. 

He'd expected her to argue, to make her case again, but she was ignoring the opening his vague demurral presented. Was she in danger of being overheard? The other day, she'd had no trouble getting away to speak to him. 

"Things are moving, and I'll do what I have to," Adalind continued. Another Hexenbiest making threats.

Renard opened his mouth, but before he could decide on a suitable answer, the phone disconnected. He looked down at it for a moment, considering, then put it away.

It seemed - _seemed_ \- that Adalind was feeling threatened. Perhaps she'd finally realized she'd thrown in with the wrong people. It meant very little, of course; Adalind had never hesitated to change sides when she'd found it useful. She couldn't be relied on. Besides, what did she expect Renard to do? Offer to take her in? 

Of course, she didn't know Juliette was staying with him.

Renard imagined himself saying, _You don't mind if Adalind joins us, do you?_ Juliette's expression - not to mention the resulting explosion of everything breakable within reach, up to and including his own brain - would be quite the spectacle.

He smiled to himself, wryly. She had come to him, never imagining he might betray her by allying with her worst enemy. Her faith was a little daunting, or had been at first. Her threats were rapidly counteracting that feeling.

The truth was, he wasn't certain at all how to handle either Adalind or Juliette. He'd mishandled Adalind before, driven her away needlessly to have her come back an enemy. Later, his deception - meant only to save Diana from Viktor - had driven Adalind straight into Viktor's hands. Now? Adalind was right, of course, that Viktor would have no more use for her once he had what he wanted. That might be used; Adalind might yet be useful to him. Renard's mind toyed with the possibilities for a moment.

Then again, maybe not. Particularly with Juliette involved - he had no intention of letting himself be caught in the middle of that particular Hexenbiest fight. Though whether Juliette was an asset or a danger he wasn't certain of, just yet. He didn't want to think of her that way, but what he wanted had very little to do with what he was going to get. She was changing.

Still, Juliette - even off-balance as she was - seemed a better prospect than Adalind, given Adalind's track record. Perhaps it was for the best, Juliette coming here. It certainly limited his options regarding Adalind, and considering his own track record, he could not entirely regret that.

  
~*~  


Juliette was seething as she drove back to Sean's place, her fingers squeezing the leather of the steering wheel. _I haven't given up_ , Nick had said to her. _I love you,_ he'd said. The man had some nerve. He'd walked out on her - the moment she'd told him the truth, he'd turned away. She'd confessed her greatest fear, and he -

Above her head, the plastic covering of the car's interior lamp cracked audibly, and small splinters rained down onto her head. She snarled in frustration.

At least it hadn't been the windscreen, or the motor. She really needed to learn how to control this.

It had been hours; it was already dark, and yet her mind was still trapped in that moment. Where had the afternoon gone? And what was she going to do now? She was finally almost back at Sean's, and that house, which had seemed a refuge at first, was starting to feel like a trap.

Ahead of her, Sean's car was pulling out of the driveway. Where was he going?

She almost shrugged it off - almost. But she'd heard him, just this morning, on the phone with Adalind. _Adalind_ , whose fault everything was. Adalind, who'd come to her house, gloated about raping Juliette's boyfriend, and tried to kill Juliette.

Adalind, who'd made her into this.

Juliette had kicked her ass. For the first time, she'd let her powers completely loose. She'd used the magic and the sheer physical force at her disposal, had followed pure instinct - an instinct she hadn't known she possessed - and she'd given that bitch the beating she so richly deserved.

Except she'd stopped too soon, hadn't she? She should have killed her. Why had she let Adalind run? Stupid, Juliette, so stupid. _Never again._

And Sean was talking to Adalind. He wasn't helping Juliette as he should - nothing he'd done had been of the slightest use. He'd demanded she help him, and what had he given her in return? Nothing. _Nothing._ Why had she ever thought he could be useful? Why had she turned to him? Why had she trusted him? If he was talking to Adalind, after everything, there was no telling what else he'd do.

Stupid again, Juliette. But no more. Not this time.

Sean's car finished backing out of the driveway, and when he sped off, she followed.

  
~*~  


Renard pushed himself up on one knee, and his body shifted. His fist found Kenneth as he rose, flinging the man through the air, turning the tables immediately. Mere human strength - no matter how well-trained - was no match for him when he was woged. So long as Rispoli and the other Verrat goon didn't try and interfere with their guns, there was no contest.

Kenneth's words echoed in his mind. _The King is extremely annoyed with how things have progressed._ Was his father behind this? Had his father finally realized he'd long lost his hold over his bastard son?

Renard slammed Kenneth's head against the wall and forced the futile thoughts away. He'd long given up attempting to compromise with his family. And if Kenneth had thought he could win, challenging a Zauberbiest at hand-to-hand, he was nothing but a self-important idiot. Renard had no time and no patience left for this. He snarled.

Suddenly, again, he felt the impact of three shots in his chest and abdomen, flashbacks he'd come to dread. Blood welled up, spreading out on his shirt, and he felt himself go into shock. His woge ebbed away.

No. _No,_ not now.

His hold on Kenneth loosened, the pain in his chest too real to even attempt a bluff. Kenneth's fist went into his stomach. The physical power of his woge was gone, and the strange bleeding prevented him from reacting even with mere human strength. 

He knew what was happening. He knew he was losing. No more negotiations; no more deals to make. There was nothing he could do. As he crashed to the ground Renard wondered if Kenneth was actually going to kill him.

A shot sounded, echoed, ricocheted. Something fell. A muffled moan; a crunch. Then a crumpling sound, a second body falling to the ground. 

Renard managed to raise his head in time to see Kenneth thrown through the air, flung against a wall. Telekinesis. 

The magic held Kenneth still for what seemed like an eternity, but must have been no more than a second or two; then the man's head was twisted, and Renard could see Kenneth's eyes bulge, hear the crunch of bone as his neck broke. Again, a dead body fell. 

Renard struggled to sit up and turn toward the entrance, to the woman standing there, woged, hands raised like an avenging goddess.

"Juliette," he croaked.

  
~*~  


Juliette strode forward, almost like walking on air. She felt charged, alive, _powerful_.

Sean was sitting on the ground, pathetic and useless. The front of his shirt was stained with blood, but he didn't seem to be seriously injured. Had he had another one of those flashbacks he'd mentioned? His attacker and the other two men lay broken on the ground. They'd been easy to dispose of, whoever they were. Juliette shrugged off the idle curiosity. A strange, intoxicating calm had settled over her. These men didn't matter. She ignored the corpses.

Then she was standing over Sean, glaring down at him with the force of her woge. "I helped you," she said coldly. "Now you help me."

Sean came to his feet carefully, staggering a little before he found his balance. She didn't offer him her hand. Hadn't she done enough? _He doesn't deserve my help,_ she thought, and then winced at the thought.

"I already tried," Sean said, flexing his shoulders, already regaining his usual smoothness of movement. He looked down at the front of his shirt and grimaced, then hissed as it hurt the cut on his upper lip, the forming bruises on his cheekbone. Finally he looked up at her. "What are you doing here? Not that I'm not grateful."

He made no mention of her woge.

"Are you?" Juliette glared. It felt right to stay woged, though she couldn't have said why. "I followed you. To make sure you weren't meeting Adalind."

Sean looked baffled. "Adalind?"

"She was on the phone this morning. I heard." She clenched her teeth, her dry and withered Hexenbiest lips stretching thin over them.

"She wants me to trust her," Sean said, looking at her as if she was trying to puzzle out her meaning. As if it weren't obvious. "I don't."

"Good," she snapped. That was something. Not much, but something. "So you won't have any trouble helping me."

"Help you with what?" Sean shook his head, though it clearly wasn't a refusal. "I owe you. But I did try, you know. Henrietta was your best bet. I wish I could have done more."

"Do you? Good. So, do more _now._ " She gestured at her woged face. "Not about this. About Adalind. Help me kill her."

Sean's face stilled into utter blandness. "That won't help." 

He was stalling, Juliette thought, furious. "Yes, it will!"

"How, exactly?" 

The mildness of Sean's dubious tone grated. "It's her fault!" Juliette snarled. "She did this to me."

"She did," Sean conceded, still stalling, damn him. "Have you considered that perhaps that means she is the key to undoing it?"

"I don't care about undoing it!" Juliette screamed. "I just want her dead."

Sean's eyebrows went up, and Juliette's eyes widened, and they stared at each other for a long, endless moment.

She hadn't meant to say that. She hadn't even _thought_ that. Wanting Adalind dead, yes. But not caring about undoing it? Her hands clenched, protruding fingernails digging into leathery skin.

Had she ever before remained woged for this long? 

"This morning, you seemed to be caring very much," Sean pointed out, a little sharply. Given the way she'd barged into his bedroom to demand a solution from him, she could hardly blame him.

"I ..." She looked down at her clenched hands, and her woge flowed away. Juliette blinked. She unclenched her hands, watched them shiver, and curled them tight again to still them.

"Juliette?"

Sean's voice came through a rush of blood in her ears, dim under the welling-up of panic from her stomach, the hot pressure behind her eyes. 

"I'm ...," she croaked, then cleared her throat and tried again. "I'm losing myself." She looked up, around them, at the dismal empty factory building, at the three dead bodies on the floor. Bodies she'd put there. Men she'd killed.

Men she'd slaughtered without a second thought. It hadn't even been a conscious choice. The moment she'd decided to stop them, killing them had become the only option.

The only thing on her mind.

Juliette swayed. She crashed to her knees, bent over and dry-retched. Oh god. What was happening to her? "I need help," she rasped, dry and barely audible - at the floor, at Sean, at herself, she wasn't sure.

After a moment, a broad hand settled on the back of her shoulders. Sean was crouching down on the floor next to her. "Juliette," he said, a little helplessly. "I thought Henrietta would be able to. I really did try."

"Not enough!" But this time it wasn't an accusation; it was a sob, a wail of desperation, a cry for help.

He hesitated, then put his arm around her, pulling her close. "I'm sorry," he murmured to her. 

She held onto him for dear life, sitting there on the dirty ground. He'd looked at her woge and hadn't flinched. He'd seen her kill three men, and wasn't afraid to touch her. He hadn't turned away from her yet.

If he did, too, she would be completely lost.

His warmth, and the sturdiness of his body, and the strength of his hold gradually seeped into her, steadying her until her breathing evened out, her eyes stopped watering and the shivering stopped.

When she pulled against his hold, just a little, he let her go immediately, though his hand remained on her shoulder and hers remained clenched around the sleeve of his shirt.

"I got blood on your coat," Sean said wryly, looking down between them. A little of the half-dried blood from his shirt had transferred. "I'm sorry."

Juliette wiped her face, giving him a shaky smile. "It's okay." Then she looked away again. "I don't know what else to do," she whispered.

"You can't continue like this." 

His tone was distant, and it made her flinch. But his eyes were steady on her, and he hadn't let go of her yet. Even if only because he was worried that she might lose it again - it meant something. It helped. Juliette swallowed, her throat dry, casting around for something, anything to say. Finally she gestured towards the blood on Sean's shirt.

"What does Henrietta say?"

Bizarrely, Sean turned his face, avoiding her gaze for the first time. It took her a moment to understand.

Juliette jerked away from him. "You haven't asked her?" she asked, incredulous.

"No," he said, pulling his hand away from her shoulder. Bland, repressed.

"Why?" Juliette's hands clenched into fists. Anger and suspicion crept back into her, and she struggled to keep them at bay. "You sent _me_ to her. What, she's not good enough for you?"

Sean still wouldn't meet her eyes. "You don't understand."

Juliette braced herself against the floor and was on her feet in an instant. "Fine, be that way," she snapped. What was she even doing here? She turned around, ready to stalk off. 

"Please, Juliette." Sean's voice was strained.

She whirled around. He was just coming to his feet as well, smoothly this time, a stark contrast to his earlier staggering. "Please what?" She threw up her hands. "Why did I even bother to help you?"

"I don't know," he snarled back, just as belligerent.

Cold, furious clarity settled over her. "I thought you could help me. I thought you would. But I have no idea why. You won't even help yourself!"

Sean snorted, his expression all derision. "You're one to talk."

They stared at each other, furiously.

It was Sean who backed off first, the belligerence dropping from his stance. "With family like this," he said wryly, gesturing toward one of the dead men, the one he'd been fighting with, "you learn never to admit a weakness."

 _Family._ Those had been Royals? Well, good riddance.

"Even to ask for help." It came out incredulous, but damn him, it made sense. _And what excuse do you have, Juliette?_

She _had_ asked for help. Well, demanded it. Well, threatened him, when he didn't deliver it quickly enough. Was that so much better?

Sean actually winced a little. "What would you have me do, Juliette? Who would you have me trust?"

 _Me._ But she couldn't say it. After all, she'd come here expecting to find him with Adalind. And the last person she'd trusted absolutely, without question - well, Nick couldn't even look at her without flinching, these days. 

"Just try," she finally said, lamely.

He nodded, then tilted his head, considering. "And you, Juliette? Will you try?"

"Try what?" Impatiently.

"We'll think of something."

Empty platitudes, no better than Nick's, but she wanted to cling to them nonetheless. 

Did he mean it? Was there a _we_? Sean had demanded her help; she'd demanded his; was there anything other than that? Could there be? 

They'd been standing several feet apart. Now he moved forward, and didn't stop until he was close enough she could feel the heat from his body. Juliette stood her ground, not backing off.

He lifted a hand, brushed two fingers along her chin. "You're very powerful," he said quietly. "You can't lose yourself in it."

She flinched back, staring up at him, hurt and incredulous. "Do you think I _want_ to?" she demanded.

"From what I've seen," he said, clinically, "you seem to be veering between terrified of what you're becoming, and utterly abandoning yourself to it."

"I ..." Was that what she'd been doing? Not consciously, no. But - "I _am_ terrified," she snapped. "It keeps overwhelming me. What am I supposed to do? You tell me, because I sure as hell don't know!"

"I don't know." He squeezed her shoulder. "But that's no reason not to try."

Juliette stared up at him, terrified and angry and desperately hopeful. "Henrietta said I had to practice, or I'd lose control," she suddenly remembered.

Sean's eyebrows shot up. "And did you?"

"I ..." She shrugged, a little helplessly. "A bit. At first. But then things kept happening, and I woged without meaning to, and did other things as if - as if they were the most natural things in the world, without even _thinking_." She'd been too afraid of what she might do.

Sean nodded, slowly. "Perhaps that would be a start."

It couldn't be that simple. It couldn't possibly be. Juliette pressed her lips together, the corners of her mouth curling down. "Yeah, maybe." She blinked frustrated tears away from her eyelashes, then closed the small distance between them, wrapping her arms around him. "Sorry," she whispered, not sure what she was apologizing for. Too many things. 

He didn't ask, merely returned the hug, a little stiffly at first, but relaxing into it after a moment. She didn't know what he was thinking, why he was doing this, why _she_ was doing this - but it felt safe. It felt better. It felt like helping.

She was reluctant to turn away from him, but they couldn't stand like this forever, locked in place. Finally, Juliette let go.

She looked around them, her eyes lingering again on the dead bodies, her shoulders shifting uncomfortably. "We should leave." 

Sean's eyes quickly scanned the room as well, then came back to her. "You should. I can't," he said, gesturing at the front of his shirt. "There's almost certainly some of my blood around here." He shrugged. "Go, Juliette. I'll handle this. We'll speak more later."

She hesitated, but finally nodded. "All right."

Perhaps they would actually speak. She had no idea what they might say, or do, but for the first time since Nick had walked out the door, Juliette felt less like she was being swallowed by something vast and incomprehensible, every safe thing she'd known torn away from her, abandoning her. She was still looking into the abyss, but she was no longer entirely adrift. There was someone with her, a hand holding hers. Even if he seemed to be careening into his own abyss. 

Even if he couldn't help her the way she'd wanted him to. Somehow, that didn't seem to matter any more. Maybe this was what she'd sought in him, from the start. 

Maybe, if they were lucky, they could keep each other from the fall.

  
~*~  


Renard's body ached all over when he finally made his way back to his office after giving his statement about what he'd supposedly witnessed at the abandoned paper mill. He'd truthfully reported he'd been lured there by a phone call from Sam Damerov, whose corpse was, after all, still at the site. And Damerov was already connected to the precinct and to Renard personally. After that, he'd decided he would have been conveniently knocked out while a third party took out Damerov's killers; that way, he didn't have to venture an explanation for the method of their deaths.

The bruises from his interrupted fight with Kenneth had settled in, though they would begin to fade in another few hours. And his nose was throbbing.

Renard could feel Nick's eyes on him as he walked through the bullpen. Damn; it was nearly eleven o'clock - the Grimm should have gone home hours ago. Renard hadn't expected to see him here. He didn't stop for a conversation, but he wasn't surprised when Nick got up and came after him as he went into his office, closing the door behind him.

Renard sank into his chair with a sigh and raised a prompting eyebrow to Nick, not bothering with words.

Nick studied him from weary, dark-ringed eyes. There was a sense of restlessness about him, as if he were just about to jump out of his skin. Losing sleep over Juliette, no doubt. Renard wondered what he'd say if he knew where his girlfriend - ex-girlfriend? - was staying these days.

"I heard about what happened." Nick said, voice low and concerned. "Are you okay? You don't look so good."

No question about that. Renard had changed into a fresh shirt from the trunk of his car, so he hadn't had to explain the bizarre pattern of blood stains. But he'd had to help the evidence a little, adding a convincingly bruised nose to his other scrapes to give an explanation for any of his blood on the scene. 

"I'm fine," he said, attempting a shrug and managing it without too much of a wince. "It's all superficial, but I appreciate your concern."

"Was this," - Nick made an eloquent, one-handed gesture - "you know?" _Wesen-related. Grimm-related._

"Yes," Renard said curtly, then took pity on the man. "Royals," he explained. "They got the drop on me, lured me there by forcing one of my informers to betray me." A pity; Sam Damerov had been a useful asset for quite some time now, and Renard had liked the man as well.

"Ah." Nick stood there, looking across the desk at him, seeming a bit lost. "Do you know who got them?"

Renard nodded. "It was Juliette," he said, and watched Nick stop as if he'd run into a wall, eyes wide and stunned. 

Finally Nick gathered himself enough to speak. "She did that?" Then his expression grew dark. "She killed three men."

Renard had been planning to pick up his laptop and drive home, not discuss Juliette with Nick. He'd never intended to discuss Juliette with Nick at all; nothing good could come of it. There was no sense getting into the middle of this, never mind that Juliette's actions had neatly and inconveniently placed him there already.

But Juliette had come to him, and so far he'd failed to drive her away. After what had happened at the old paper mill today, he wasn't certain it was safe to do so. Nor that he wanted to.

"How many have you killed?" Renard said sharply. Not that Juliette's quick turn to killing wasn't concerning, but he'd run out of patience for the day hours ago. "She saved my life."

Well, Kenneth probably hadn't intended to actually kill him, but for one, Juliette had had no way of knowing that, and for the other, _probably_.

Nick seemed torn between confusion, worry, and judgment. "Is she all right?"

Renard looked at the burning hope in Nick's eyes and almost hated to dash it. Almost offered a bland _yes_ and left it at that. "No."

She had clung to him, shaking, as if he had any comfort to give. She was losing herself, and bizarre as it was, even though he'd only meant to calm her, to defuse her explosive fury, even so small a gesture appeared to have helped.

What _had_ happened between her and Nick? He wasn't certain Juliette's observations were exactly impartial.

Nick ran an agitated hand through his hair. "Where did she go? I have to find her."

"No, you don't." It came out before he'd considered the words, but on reflection, it was the only response he could make. Well, unless he wanted to explain just where Juliette was staying, and that was a very emphatic _no_.

For one, Juliette wouldn't forgive him if he did.

Nick was staring at him again. Then, like a puppet with its strings abruptly cut, he more fell into than sat on the chair opposite Renard. "Did she talk to you? She won't talk to me. I keep calling her, and she doesn't pick up. Doesn't call back. I don't know where she is, what she's doing. I need to ..." He huffed a humorless laugh. "I don't know. I need to do _something_."

"No, you don't," Renard repeated. In for a penny, in for a pound. "She clearly needs the space. And if you keep hounding her, she'll only retreat further. Is that what you want?"

Nick blinked, incredulous, and Renard couldn't fault him. He was hardly a relationship counselor, both unqualified for the job and uninterested in it. Nothing about this could be made better by his interference. But neither by his silence, so what was there to lose?

"She laughed at me," Nick rasped. "I said I wanted to help her, and she laughed."

"I see." That did sound like Juliette, the way she could be now. Renard tilted his head, leaned back in his chair, and gave Nick his most cutting look. "So this is about yourself, is it? Not about helping Juliette. Feeling a bit unappreciated, Nick?"

Nick flinched, then gaped, then leaned forward, snarling. "What the hell do you mean by that?"

Renard raised his eyebrows, and Nick - miracle of miracles - backed down. Too tired and worn-out for a sustained confrontation? Perhaps.

"Sorry," Nick muttered. "I don't know. I don't understand anything any more. She's changed." His eyes turned sharp. "She told me she went to you."

"I'm sorry," Renard offered after a moment. "I did try to help her."

"Yeah," Nick snapped. "And you never said anything to me."

"No." He met Nick's furious glare head-on. "Going behind her back isn't going to help, Nick. Not anyone." 

Who was he trying to convince? Both of them, it seemed.

"So what is?" It was a desperate plea. "I don't even know her any more. What am I supposed to do? How am I supposed to get Juliette back?"

"You're not." It was a cruel thing to say, but the only thing he could, even if it wasn't entirely selfless. If Nick ever found out about that, things were likely to turn ugly. "Now listen to me, Nick, because I'm only going to say this once. Juliette's in a very delicate place right now, and she needs to find her own balance. However that may turn out. The only thing you can do is let her." He lifted a palm, wryly. "And get some sleep, for god's sake. Why are you even still here? It's past eleven, and Hank must have gone home hours ago."

Nick's shoulders went up defensively. "I don't really want to go home," he admitted.

That was no surprise. "I'm sorry," Renard offered again. Empty words. It was all he knew how to give. Though he had given no better to Juliette, and it seemed to have done some good regardless.

"Yeah." Nick hesitated. "Do you know where she went? Is she going to be safe?"

"She can take care of herself," Renard promised, and hoped it was the truth. "Get some rest, Nick."

Nick grimaced, but gave a jerky nod of agreement. He heaved himself to his feet and rubbed a hand over his face. "I'm going," he muttered. At the door he stopped, and looked back toward Renard. "I'm glad you're okay." And with that, he was gone.

Renard sighed again. If Nick knew where Juliette was staying, he'd likely have punched Renard instead. What an unpleasant situation. And he could see no clear way of getting out of it. At this point, no matter what he did, he'd be risking his alliance with the Grimm.

If he sent Juliette away now, perhaps the status quo might be maintained. But he would almost certainly do more damage to Juliette and, indirectly, to Nick. Never mind what Juliette herself might do, cut loose like that. 

No; the time for a simple solution was past. He would simply have to deal with the fallout as it came.

  
~*~  


Juliette sat on the couch, her hands pressed together between her knees. One of Sean's newspapers was spread out on the low table in front of her - The Times, the British one - but she was paying no attention to the newsprint, her eyes instead flickering toward the hallway every other moment.

Three times now she'd stood up and almost left. Once she'd made it all the way to the door. Why was she still here? What was she hoping to accomplish?

He'd been there for her in that abandoned factory, held her as she fell apart, but it wasn't as if he'd ever offered her comfort before. Maybe she was only deluding herself, thinking there was even a chance this wouldn't fall apart, taking her down with it. Thinking he could help, even if he had no answer for her problems. After all, she'd fallen into that trap before.

When she'd first gone to Sean for help, for one - when he'd sent her to Henrietta. She'd been so sure things were finally looking up, that the strange Hexenbiest would find her a cure and everything could simply go back to normal.

It hadn't.

Then again when she'd finally told Nick the truth. She'd sat there after her fight with Adalind, waiting for him to come home, knowing she'd have to confess. Terrified of him - and he'd proved her right; he _had_ pointed a gun at her - but hoping that somehow, it would turn out all right.

It hadn't.

And not the least, when she'd turned to Sean again after she'd realized she couldn't stay around Nick any more, not with him looking at her like that. Or rather, not looking at her. She'd hoped for sanctuary; Sean had offered her a trade. _Quid pro quo._ She'd needed something else, and had hoped he could give it.

He hadn't.

Juliette shot to her feet again. She had to leave. There was no point in this. She couldn't risk it, not again. Except - then what? She wasn't sure what she was doing here; she knew even less what she might do anywhere else.

From the hallway came the sound of a key turning, a door clicking open. Juliette flinched. And sat down, abruptly, fingers curling around the edges of the newspaper, staring at columns of text that were blurring before her eyes.

Sean's steps approached, then slowed. "You did come back here," he said, voice low. "I wasn't sure you would." He sounded as if he wasn't sure he'd wanted her to.

She finally looked up. And startled at the sight of his face. The bruises on his cheekbone had come out in full now, stark and red, and the cut on his lip was swollen. All of that was to be expected. But his nose looked like it had taken a good punch, too, and she knew for a fact that hadn't been the case back at the paper mill.

"What happened to your nose?" she asked, and then wondered if she sounded too distant. Mild curiosity rather than concern was in her voice, and she knew - she _knew_ that if she'd seen him, or anyone she knew, like this a month, even a week ago, she'd have been worried, filled with sympathy, and she'd have been eager to help somehow. It would have shown in her voice, in her face, as it didn't now.

Sean's eyelids lowered for a blink just a moment longer than usual. He'd clearly noticed her non-reaction, but didn't seem fazed. It was only Juliette herself who felt distantly unsettled by it. 

"The blood," he replied. "I have no open wounds, but a nosebleed is an excellent excuse for any blood I may have spilled."

"I see," she said slowly, letting go of the newspaper and standing up. Her earlier panic felt very far away. She walked up to him and lifted a hand toward his bruised cheek with assurance. Her fingers only lightly brushed his skin, but he hissed nonetheless. "Does this hurt?"

"Yes," he said simply, his green eyes narrowed and dark as he looked down at her. Then his long fingers closed around her wrist, preventing her from touching him again. "Of course it does."

They were standing close, yet the only touch between them was Sean's hand on her arm. It felt like the only real thing in the room, in the city, in her world. That, and his eyes on her, her eyes on him, their gaze locking, a connection strung between them like a thread tying them together. She wanted to pull on it, to see what happened. And then she did.

Sean leaned forward just slightly, and she leaned forward as well. In the middle of the space between them they met. Lips touched, and an electric jolt went through her.

Juliette gasped and ripped herself from him, backing away several feet until the backs of her calves hit the couch table. She stood there, hands clenched, breathing harshly.

"What did we just do?" she asked, wide-eyed and frantic. "Did I do that?"

He blinked, and his posture straightened. His gaze on her was clinical all of a sudden, examining, considering. "I believe you did," he said, and something hard had crept into his voice now.

No wonder.

"No," she gasped, struggling to get her breathing under control and failing. "No, I didn't mean -"

"Juliette," he told her, voice sharp, "I think you should sit down." And he came towards her, approaching her when he should be flinching away.

"No," she forced out again, retreating along the side of the table. How could Sean keep her from falling if she was the one dragging him into the abyss? "No, I need to leave, I can't -"

"Don't," Sean said, harshly. "The last thing you should do is walk out now. Who knows what you'll do?"

She flinched, the shock of what she'd just done too raw. He wasn't wrong. Juliette made herself stand still and watch as Sean went over to an armchair and sat down, putting the table between them. That was for the best. She sank onto the couch and drew her legs up after her, wrapping her arms around her knees.

"This can't be happening again," she whispered. "I can't be doing this to us again." Too late, she realized she'd - even if obliquely - named the elephant in the room that had remained unmentioned between them for years. "I'm sorry," she forced out, horrified, terrified - and guiltily wishing she could feel that calm sureness again, no matter what she might do in that state. She didn't want to feel like this. She couldn't deal with this.

"Juliette," Sean said, and his voice was harsh, but still inexplicably steady, "we are _never_ doing that again. You can be sure of that."

"Yeah?" she said, and her voice sounded high, shrill, almost hysterical, like she might shatter to pieces any moment now. "Then what was that just now, huh? I did that. I made you - I made us -" A bitter laugh spilled from her lips, and she buried her face in her knees.

"You did that," he agreed, making no effort to soften the words. "A single moment that caught both of us unawares. You did it once; I'll let it pass." When she looked up again, Sean was leaning forward, and she finally recognized the fury in his eyes, beneath the superficial calm. "You try that on me again, it won't end well for you. And that's a promise."

Her skin was gooseflesh. Determination burned in his eyes, implacable and inescapable. He would do whatever it took to prevent that particular horror from repeating itself. He meant it; there was no denying it.

It might have been reassuring, might have been soothing. Except that _she_ was a Hexenbiest, and he ...

"As if you could stop me, even if you tried," Juliette snapped, suddenly furious herself. How dare he make light of what she'd done, of what she could do! The insult of that was galling. As if he could make her do anything she didn't want to. As if he could stop her from anything she wanted. She stood up from the couch, slow and deliberate. "You said it yourself. I'm so much more than you'll ever be."

With a few steps, Juliette was around the table and standing over him. He looked up at her, bruised as he was, his eyes hooded. It would be so easy to straddle his legs, lean forward, _make_ him betray himself. Make him a liar.

"You can do that," Sean said, voice low and dark and threatening. "I know you can." With a single, smooth movement he was on his feet, his hand around her throat, and suddenly she was slamming back first into a wall, staring into his strange half-way woge. "And then I can put a bullet in your head." He smirked, teeth bared, unpleasant. "Even Hexenbiests need to sleep."

She twitched in his grasp, and when he let go of her an instant later, she backed away along the wall, stumbling and nearly falling as she bumped into the armchair Sean had been sitting in only moments ago. Sean made no move to catch her, but he came closer as she regained her footing, holding on to the chair's backrest with a desperate grip.

Juliette shivered. "I don't know what happened," she whispered. "I _don't_ want that, I swear I don't. But I know I - I just almost ..." She trailed off, swallowing harshly. "For the second time today."

Sean looked down at her, his face entirely closed, and he seemed to be weighing options. Still angry, but despite everything, not afraid. "You stopped yourself, Juliette. You're still in control." 

At least it wasn't _I trust you_. She could never have believed that particular reassuring lie. But then again, reassuring lies were Nick's department, weren't they? Sean had never offered her anything like that.

"Am I?" she whispered, squeezing her eyes shut. "It doesn't feel like it."

"No?" His voice was contemptuous all of a sudden. "I think you remember Adalind's curse as vividly as I do." 

Juliette wanted to shrink in on herself, or slap him for bringing this up now - but she was the one who'd dragged it to the fore, wasn't she? He just wasn't willing to paper it over this time.

Sean stood in front of her, waiting, not backing off. Juliette grimaced against the memories she'd never been able to fully put aside. How could she forget that she knew what his mouth tasted like, how his body felt crowding her against a wall, how her fingers felt digging into his back, how she'd wanted to devour him with her mouth and climb him like a tree?

It had been a horrible confusion of craving and revulsion, having her own feelings hijacked like that, being overwhelmed by desire for someone she barely knew. Thoughts of him had invaded every part of her life, at every time of the day. Her body had craved him constantly. How she'd found the strength to push him away she still didn't know, but it had never been enough. He'd been under her skin.

And she knew the same had happened to him. He'd wanted it just as little, had fought it just as hard. Unlike her, he'd known what was happening to him - and he'd still been unable to resist, unable to stop the _want_ that was eating him from the inside.

The memories had never gone away, and even now, they were still so terribly arousing. The worst part was that now that she knew him better, the fantasies were so much more real.

Oh God. Juliette flushed brightly, remembering. The night before, she'd brought herself off to just those memories, here in this very house, in Sean's guest bedroom, thinking nothing of it, not even realizing she was doing anything out of the ordinary, out of line. What had happened to her? "Oh God," she whispered, and pushed her trembling fingers into her armpits, trying to hide the shaking. Judging by Sean's look, she was failing. With burning eyes she looked up at him. "What do you want me to say?"

Damn him, he was right - this wasn't anything like Adalind's curse. No one was forcing her. Whatever it was, it was coming from _her_. God, had she always been attracted to Sean, underneath the artificial craving?

Or did that even matter? She was attracted to him now, the more the longer she knew him, even when he threatened to put a bullet through her head. Perhaps especially then. That was real. That was her. Wasn't it? It was her now. She'd never once wanted to act on it, but it still was her.

She _didn't_ want to act on it, did she? She kept forgetting why she shouldn't.

Opposite her, Sean was still standing there, eyebrows raised, waiting for something. Waiting for her to admit the truth.

"Fine," she ground out, eventually. "You're right. It's all me. Does that satisfy you? It's all me, even if I don't know who the hell I am any more. I'm changing, and I can't stop it. So what am I supposed to do?"

Sean let out a breath that seemed almost relief, though she couldn't see why. "You're changing," he agreed. "But it's still you who's changing. It'll still be you, whatever you become." 

Juliette shivered. "If that was supposed to be reassuring," she bit back, "well, it's not."

"It wasn't." Calmly.

Somehow, that braced her. He'd never sugarcoated things for her. He didn't treat her carefully, or even kindly, half the time. But he'd never yet turned her away, and he seemed to understand her confusion, even if he could offer no answers to her problems.

And he could look at her without flinching, even after what she'd just done.

It was frustrating - _he_ was frustrating, and too distant and standoffish, and she never quite knew where his mind was at - but it felt real. And he was here, unafraid.

And just for the moment, she wasn't falling into the abyss.

"So what now?" Juliette asked eventually, defiantly. "Are you sure you don't want me to leave?" She needed to hear it again. She needed to know.

"Do you want an excuse?" Sean's look was very nearly an eyeroll. She glared. He glared back.

"I don't want to have to deal with this," she snapped. "Any of this! Of course it would be easier." Going somewhere where no one knew her. Being someone knew. No longer trying to remember who she'd been. She'd been thinking about it for a while.

He nodded, his eyes on her a challenge. "Then why haven't you?"

Juliette snarled. "If I had anywhere to go ..." She grimaced. Any clear path would do. But there was none, except ... She turned away from Sean, though she could still feel the weight of his gaze. "These days," she said, clinically, in the direction of the French doors, "sometimes, when I stop fighting it, I suddenly feel this incredible calm. It's everything, and it's stunning - I no longer care what anyone else wants, or what I wanted before. I know what I want, and I know how to get it. Nothing else matters at all." She pivoted on her heel, looking at him head-on. "And then it goes away, and I've done something, and whether I want to or not, I can't take it back."

Sean nodded, as if that actually made sense to him. What did _he_ know? He'd always been a Zauberbiest. He couldn't possibly understand.

Juliette put her hands on her hips, piercing him with her eyes. Bracing herself. "I don't want it to go away," she said bleakly. "Coming back is horrible, and I don't want that. I want _more_ of it, even when I'm afraid. Even when I'm horrified. I said I wanted my life back - but if someone tried to take this away from me, I don't know what I'd do."

Sean, somehow, didn't look shocked at all. "I thought as much," he said drily, "when you screamed at me that you didn't care about changing back, only about killing Adalind."

She flinched, then tilted her head to the side, glaring. "She deserves it," Juliette snapped. Calm was sliding over her again, without dimming her anger - they weren't opposites at all. She hadn't known that before. 

"Is that what this is about?" Sean asked sharply. "What Adalind deserves? Somehow I doubt it."

"What do you mean? Don't you dare defend her." She bared her teeth at him. After everything Adalind had done, how dare he?

"I'm not." Sean mimed a callous shrug. "But don't pretend that's why. She hurt you, and you want to be given leave to lash out in return, that's all."

"I don't need anyone to _give me leave_ ," Juliette snarled.

"No, you don't," he agreed. "Only yourself."

"If I kill her, it'll be over, and I'll be able to move forward instead." That was the only clear path she could see. She could feel its pull, feel fury and conviction and righteousness burning inside her.

"Will it be over?" Sean leaned forward a little, and his face was hard, unreadable. "There's still Nick. Hank, Monroe and Rosalee, your other friends." A wry smile. "Even me. If you want _over_ ..."

For a moment, the thought was actually appealing. A startled laugh burst out of her mouth. "And then I -" She shook her head, her lips twitching, bubbles of laughter escaping her lips. "And then I can go after my parents, and my colleagues, and my childhood friends, and - God. For a moment I almost wanted to. But it would never end, would it?"

"Could it?" Sean asked her, coldly. "If you started."

The realization hit her like a punch in the gut. Juliette stared at Sean, wide-eyed. What had she just said? She felt herself sway, nearly falling, again. But this time, Sean's arms caught her shoulders, held her up.

"Oh god," she whispered. "I just considered murdering all my friends. Why are you still ..." She couldn't complete the sentence. What was he doing? She shuddered. "Oh God. What have I become?"

"Something very dangerous." His eyes were dark and narrowed, his face hard, chiseled out of stone. If he thought he could contain her - 

_No,_ she told herself, squeezing her eyes shut. No, she couldn't get angry, not when he was clearly thinking the same things she was. If he could stop her from doing what she'd threatened - if he would even try - she had to let him. She had to.

After all, there wasn't anyone else.

Maybe Nick had been right, she thought dimly. Maybe she was a monster now. Her throat constricted. "How can you even stand me?" 

He was silent for too long. Her eyes flickered up to his face, but she couldn't read his expression. "You need to face it," Sean said finally, reluctantly. "I don't think there is any way back."

"Don't you think I know that?" Despair had curled up in her chest, aching with every breath. 

"Which is why you need to face it," he repeated, infuriatingly calmly. "What you're becoming. What you could do, unfettered. You need to look at it, head-on."

Juliette blinked. "How is that supposed to help?"

"What we just talked about? You have the capacity for that," he said bluntly, and she knew it for the condemnation it was. "But it's not inevitable. Not if you don't want it to be. You just talked yourself _out_ of killing all your friends." A small, mirthless twitch of a smile. "Remember that."

She ran her hands through her hair, grimacing. "How is that supposed to be good enough?" It wasn't. Even she knew that.

His face softened just a fraction. "It's a start."

Juliette stared at him with the incomprehension of a drowning woman who'd never seen a lifeline before. He met her eyes, and she couldn't pretend he wasn't seeing her as she was. And yet, he clearly meant what he'd said. 

She wanted to grab onto the hope for salvation he'd offered, wanted to reach for it - for him - and never let go. But it couldn't be that simple, could it? 

Juliette hesitated. "I don't think I could have done that without you." Condemning herself further.

But Sean merely nodded, this, too, no surprise to him. "You need someone who understands Hexenbiests," he said quietly, then added, humorously, "and doesn't want you to kill your friends."

She snorted a grim laugh. "Will you?" Help her. Be there for her. Tolerate her mood swings. Not decide she was too much of a liability.

"Perhaps you should talk to Henrietta again," he deflected. It was like a slap in the face, and he must have seen it, because he added quickly, "I'm not trying to fob you off on her. But it might help."

Juliette tried to shake the sudden hurt. She reached for something to say, then remembered what she'd discovered back at the paper mill. She poked her finger at his chest, into one of the places where he'd bled. "Maybe we both should talk to Henrietta."

Sean blinked, then shrugged, a little helplessly, and the corners of his mouth twitched. "You may be right."

She'd expected refusal, or an argument. Not this simple acquiescence. It calmed something inside her. "So, will you?" she demanded again, not sure what she was hoping for.

"If you will," he returned. What was he asking? What exactly were they negotiating here? Clearly neither of them was just talking about Henrietta.

"If I'll what?" she murmured, sarcastically. "Not kill Adalind?" Not unleash herself at him. Not lose sight of what she actually wanted, under that tempting calmness, that freedom from fear.

"Yes," he said drily, as if he'd heard everything she hadn't said. "That."

It was a lot to ask for, even just the Adalind part. But he was right. If she started, she might never stop.

"I think," she said, hoarsely, then interrupted herself to try and swallow with a very dry throat. "I think I can do that." 

She considered him for a long moment. One step forward, closing the small distance between them. Then Juliette was lifting herself up on her toes, brushing a kiss on his bruised cheekbone. This time, he didn't hiss in pain, but she had no doubt that he still felt it. "I hope it's worth it," she whispered, her lips inches from his face, "even if it hurts."

Because it was going to. She knew that, and he was hardly delusional enough to think otherwise.

Sean combed a hand into her hair, pulling her back so he could look at her. "I suppose we'll have to see," he said, very quietly. "But it's certainly worth a try."


End file.
